


Brilliant Blue

by Rikonch



Category: PewDiePie (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:39:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikonch/pseuds/Rikonch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The zombie apocalypse ends poetically for two boys</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brilliant Blue

There’s a lot of ways to describe blue. Sadly, none of those descriptions came to mind as the tip of the gun bumped against my chest. His eyes were the blue that I found myself unable to describe in such a way that would sound as amazing as he was. But those brilliant, not easy to describe blue eyes were dulled, more flat than I had ever witnessed. A pale, thin, spider-webbed finger rested carefully on the trigger that meant to either end the game, or keep going in hopes that you win. But the man with the not easy to describe blue eyes couldn't pull back the lever that decided my next few breaths.

“Don’t worry about it, Cry. J-Just don’t. O-Okay?” The man kept muttering. Brilliant blue eyes sat into a gaze with mine, never blinking, as if afraid to miss the thing he had been waiting for. But there was nothing to wait for. I felt the clocks inside me, gears slowly churning to a halt, the alarm buzzed, my mind closing in. My ribs folded into paper cranes, the kind that the blue eyed man needed to wish upon. But all the wishes in the world would not stop the fact that in a few chaotic seconds, I would no longer be in an everlasting staring contest with those, brilliant, amazing blue eyes.

I had only but a few minutes left, and with whatever thoughts and ideas I could muster, I began to fathom a description of the eyes. 

Every description you've ever heard was always something along the plain lines of ‘clear as the sky’ or ‘shining like the ocean’. But that never gave me quite the right image in my head. A clear sky could be anything, like the sky and night when all the stars are out. This man’s eyes were not of that particular shade, never dark, always a nice light blue. As for the ocean, I've never actually seen an ocean the same hue as his. Ocean’s hide mysteries, different fish, different problems, and most of the time they actually looked somewhat murky. But I could read him cover to cover, memorize the sweet lines and long difficult words I had trouble pronouncing. I’m sure he’d teach me how to say them, though. I could read him a million times and over, old dog eared pages worn out from the many times I've looked and searched.

There are many shades of blue of course. I could say cerulean, a nice, more lenient shade I would like to guess. Or maybe a French blue, a tint of the feeling you get, right before you fall asleep. Although, I was certain his eyes never reached the shade of such a color as indigo, for they never dulled that much. But the irises were nearly there, on the verge of getting to the darker type of color, all the light, the laughs and terrible jokes we shared, everything that we had ever known drowning out and fading as he let the gun drop to his side.

“I won’t do it. I’m sure there’s a cure, Cry.” He whispered. It wasn't exactly a whisper, more like a croak. His voice was weak, the brilliant blue wearing thin, distress screaming out all over his face. I wanted to reach out, to hug and hold him for all the brilliant blue was worth, wiping all the sorrow off the just as brilliant face. But my head only tilted slightly, staring into the gaze that could bring a man down to his knees, and finally decided on my description.

Brilliant blue is the color of the feeling you get when that dream takes over you. It may be the feeling when you see a friend for the very last time, sorrow-ridden goodbyes pouring from your over eager, swollen lips. It’s when you wake up that next morning and reach for anything there that could protect you. It’s when that hand touches soft cotton, a t-shirt, and it’s when the owner of that shirt wraps its frame around your sorry excuse for one, and holds you closer. It’s when the window glass is laced with frost and ice as you trudge through fallen snow, clinging for the warmth that you so solely want. It’s the breath that you can see when the frost is around you, and nothing else, just your own world, just for a placid moment. But dreams are fading, and you find yourself restless, but that brilliant blue is slowly running out of lullabies. That brilliant blue was never the red that spread on our bruised and battered bodies, never the purple and blue shades on our sensitive knuckles. It’s never been when we were reloading our guns or running just so we could continue playing the game. It was never when I got bit either.

And so here we were, my clock ringing to its end, urging me to just fucking die already (honestly, there’s never been a poetic way to say I need to kill myself). But the brilliant blue wouldn’t raise his gun, never pointing it at me. He refused to pull the trigger. My head thumped, poison running all along any crevices and secrets it could find in me. It spread throughout my head, settling over and making my vision more blurry. Or maybe it was just the liquid forming in my eyes as I looked at my partner sob slightly. I dragged my hand to my belt, quickly picking up my own gun. I let the end rest gently on the side of my head, burrowing into my dark brown hair. Brilliant blue choked, eyes wide, just barely not fully shadowed. But he copied my motion, resting the tip of his own on the side of his head. He only smiled slightly, fear laced and dipped all over it. I gave the same emotion in return.

And just for a moment, chapped lips sank into mine, moving slowly, savoring. Brilliant blue washed over me, the feeling of grace and sanity cleansing the outside, but not the poison dripping through the inside. I moved along with him, fitting together in a way that was just right. There would no longer be a sleepless nights, for this was the final lullaby. We both pulled away, resting our foreheads together in the same breath, and I? I took my last chance, staring into the endless brilliant blue, looking into the everlasting grace held in simple irises. 

2 gunshots rang out that day, both at the exact same moment, fluent as it pierced through the silent air. And most people felt only the melancholy that splattered onto the ground, the fear that rained down that night in heavy, fat drops. 

In the last moment, we both sat into the grace made for us, sliding into the last and eternal night of sleep. That was our brilliant blue.

**Author's Note:**

> (haha I'm a piece of shit)


End file.
